"Shoot him already!"
"Do it, bro!"
"Come on, Nico! Don't freeze now!"
The air was loud. Cheers and cruel laughter bounced off the stone walls and trees like wild echoes.
Some of the Lucianos were recording it like it was some sick party. Others had cigars in their mouths, drinking wine like they were at a wedding—not an execution.
One of the brothers raised his glass and shouted,
"Make it clean or make it messy—we don't care!"
They all laughed.
Another brother grinned darkly, "Bet he cries before the shot."
Kyan's knees were weak. His heart thudded so loudly, he couldn't even hear the chants anymore. But he could see Nico.
The way Nico was just standing there. Gun raised.
Eyes locked with his.
Kyan's breath shook. His eyes wide, terrified, pleading without words.
Nico didn't blink.
They stared at each other. One shaking, the other unreadable.
One breath away from a bullet.
Clink.
The gun hit the ground.
Kyan flinched.
His eyes were squeezed shut, body tense, chest rising and falling fast—like he was waiting for pain, for the end. But nothing came.
Silence.
Dead silence.
The cheers? Gone.
The Lucianos stared, frozen.
Someone muttered, "What the hell…"
Another whispered, "Did he just—?"
But no one moved. No one laughed anymore.
Kyan opened his eyes, slowly. His vision blurry with tears he refused to cry.
And there was Nico.
Still standing. But his hand… empty.
His jaw tight. His face unreadable.
And the gun—on the floor like it burned him.
No one said a word.
The whole Luciano world had just gone still.
The Don stepped forward, his deep voice breaking the heavy silence.
"What is wrong with you, son?!" he barked. "Pick up that gun and shoot him. Will you?!"
Nico didn't speak.
His jaw clenched tighter, but he kept his eyes on Kyan—on the boy tied to the tree, trembling but trying not to.
The air shifted. No one dared move. No one had ever seen this before.
It was the first time in Luciano history a crowned king hesitated.
Every king before Nico—his father, his uncles, his grandfather—had pulled the trigger without blinking. No mercy. No questions. That was the Luciano way.
Nico had been raised on that law. Since he was a boy, he'd watched his father execute traitors in cold blood. At ten, he was forced to skin a rabbit alive to "toughen his heart." At fifteen, he was given his first knife and told, "This is your tongue now. Speak with it." And by eighteen, he'd already buried enemies with his own hands.
Emotion had no place in the Luciano family. Sympathy was weakness.
But here he was… frozen.
Gun on the ground.
Eyes locked with a terrified boy who didn't belong to this world.
And for the first time… Nico looked unsure.
Nico slowly turned away from Kyan, jaw still tight, eyes dark.
"Take him back to the dungeon," he said, his voice cold but calm. "Now."
The guards looked confused for a moment, waiting for the Don's approval. But Nico didn't wait. He stepped forward and raised his voice slightly.
"This meeting is over."
Gasps echoed. A few of the Luciano brothers exchanged glances. No one had ever dared end a trial before the Don gave the word.
"I want a word with the Don," Nico added, not caring who was watching.
He didn't explain himself.
He didn't need to.
With a flick of his hand, the guards moved. Kyan was untied, still shaking, still blindfolded, and dragged back toward the dungeon.
The crowd was silent now. The cheers had died. No one smiled anymore.
Nico's back was straight as ever as he walked toward his father. The gun still lay on the ground, untouched.
Something had shifted.
And everyone felt it.
The Don stood by the edge of the empty field, his long coat dancing with the wind. Nico walked up to him in silence, stopping just a few steps away.
"You embarrassed the family," the Don said first, his voice low but sharp. "What you did back there… that was forbidden."
Nico didn't flinch. "I didn't kill him because I know he didn't do it."
The Don turned fully to face him now, his eyes narrowing. "Since when do we need proof? Since when do we question the code, Nico? You were raised better than that."
Nico clenched his jaw. "That's the problem. I was raised to pull the trigger without thinking. Raised to obey like a machine."
"And that's what's kept us alive!" the Don snapped. "That's what's kept this family feared, respected, unstoppable! You're not just anyone anymore—you're king."
"I know that," Nico said calmly. "But being king doesn't mean being heartless."
The Don stared at him for a long moment. His face unreadable.
"You're changing the rules," he finally said.
"I'm not," Nico said. "I'm just choosing not to make a mistake we can't undo."
A cold silence stretched between them. The Don turned his face slightly, his gaze on the distant trees.
"You're not soft… are you?" he asked.
"No," Nico replied. "But I'm not blind either."
Another pause. The wind blew gently, like even the world was waiting to see what the Don would say next.
"You better be right about this boy," the Don said slowly. "Because if you're wrong…"
"I won't be," Nico cut in. "I trust my gut."
The Don didn't argue again.
He just nodded once, tight and slow.
Then he walked away, coat billowing, leaving Nico standing alone in the fading light.
As the Don walked away, Nico stood still, fists buried in his coat pockets, jaw tight.
His eyes lowered to the ground, but his mind wasn't quiet.
God… I couldn't do it.
He swallowed hard, guilt crawling in his chest—but not the kind he expected.
Not with the way he looked at me. Not with the way his eyes were so danm pretty…
He let out a slow breath, dragging his hand over his face.
What the hell is wrong with me?